


Sea Legs

by p1013



Series: Kinkuary 2021 [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Monologue, POV Draco Malfoy, Past Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character - Freeform, Pirate Lord Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29547159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: Did you know that Muggles know more about the vast expanse of space than they do about what's lurking in the sea? They can tell you the exact chemical composition of the farthest stars, but they can't tell you what thrives at the bottom of the Marianas Trench or how eels find each other in the vast expanse of the sea to mate and reproduce, though they're more than happy to dine on the bountiful results.No, they've no idea what lurks beneath the shifting deck under our feet.But let me tell you, Potter.I do.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Kinkuary 2021 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140512
Comments: 18
Kudos: 105
Collections: HP Kinkuary 2021





	Sea Legs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slytherco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherco/gifts).



> Day 18 - Intercrural Sex

The world is full of mystery. Most of the time, it's the normal sort. Lovers gone missing, scientific discoveries on the brink of realization, secrets held tight in the center of a heart like a touchstone. There are millions of them every day, those brief moments of uncertainty that come with crossing a street or checking the weather.

Threaded through them all, though, are the deeper riddles. The questions that have no answer, no matter how many ways you ask them.

Did you know that Muggles know more about the vast expanse of space than they do about what's lurking in the sea? They can tell you the exact chemical composition of the farthest stars, but they can't tell you what thrives at the bottom of the Marianas Trench or how eels find each other in the vast expanse of the sea to mate and reproduce, though they're more than happy to dine on the bountiful results.

No, they've no idea what lurks beneath the shifting deck under our feet.

But let me tell you, Potter.

I do.

* * *

I didn't mean to become a pirate, not really. I'd always liked to imagine myself as somewhat of a rogue, though it took the Dark Lord's demise and my father's admittance to the Janus Thickey Ward before I finally took on the trappings of the title. I'd been acquitted, though just barely — thank you for that, by the way — and with all of the Malfoy money tied up in the courts and mother's guardianship, my desire to fall into a life of sin and splendor was somewhat curtailed. It's a bit hard to live a life of leisure when you've no gilt, and Mother certainly wasn't going to finance my debauchery.

For a brief moment, I went straight. Well, not _entirely_ straight, if you catch my meaning, but I tried to live a respectable life. It was hard finding work in Wizarding London, but Moribund was willing to hire me to keep his books. And do you know, I actually liked it? The man himself was a monster parading around in a person's skin. He liked his lovers young. _Too_ young, if you ask me, and killing him might have been the last truly decent thing I've done since leaving London, but I digress.

He gave me his books, and I spent hours pouring over the pages. Moneys in, moneys out. Inventory and orders, special requests from other vendors. Commerce, Potter, in all of its fine-boned detail. And do you know what I realized? I _realized_ it all had to come from somewhere. You can't ship things via Floo. There's too much uncertainty about which fireplace you'll end up at, too much volatility in sending sensitive goods through literal flames. Apparition is just as bad. You've Sided-Along someone, of course. Now imagine doing it with a wooden crate weighing two tonnes. 

I see you've caught onto my point.

For all of the magic that we possess, for all of the superiority we feel over Muggles, we're just as screwed by physics as they are. 

If we want things — and believe me, Potter, we want things very badly — we must ship them.

Oh, don't give me that look. I can see that little investigator's mind of your's whirring away. And like I told you, I didn't set out to become a pirate. Moribund needed his goods shipped, and I was willing to walk down to the docks, to interact with the Muggles he wouldn't deign to be seen with.

I must say, Potter, dock workers? They're a rather interesting lot. Very _earthy_ for men who spend so much of their time on the sea. There's something about being out here, lost among the waves and the stars, the whole world empty except for you and your ship and whatever sleeps beneath it, that makes you appreciate land all the more. When you smell it — the deep, rich loam of earth — it draws something out of you. Makes you want to _grow_ , to _spread_ , to bury your roots deep into the ground and luxuriate at the press around you.

I see you take my meaning again. Smart man.

They're very strong, those Muggle dock workers. It comes from moving freight, though they use their machines to do most of it. But there are a few of them who still like to do it the old fashioned way. Who take their thick arms and use them to heave up heavy boxes, to stand, their great thighs straining against the weight, to port goods the same way they were two hundred years ago.

There was a man I knew, Johnny or Benny or something equally as traditional and coy. I'm rubbish with names when all I want to do is fuck. Anyway, he would greet me with a smile and after we were done discussing the shipment, he would take me into the warehouse, push me against a wall, and fuck my thighs. He liked to pull my hair when he did it, and I can't say I hated it. My favorite memories are of when he'd let me do him, though. Those thighs of his… they'd press around my cock like they were made for it. I'd push into that muscled clench, his balls brushing over the top of my prick, his drooling precome with every one of my thrusts... 

Ah, I do like the docks.

But it was those trips that made me think to buy my own ship. Nothing fancy, nothing pretentious. It was plain enough for Mother to not suspect, and I had a very thorough business plan. Simple runs across the Channel. Wizarding goods from the Continent, brought weekly to England until the demand outstripped our pace and I had to buy another, larger ship and switch to daily travails.

It was so easy.

But you know this already. I'm just rehashing the things you've already figured out for yourself. Harry Potter. Too precious for the Ministry to put on the street, too powerful to be lost to bureaucracy. So they tucked you somewhere between.

Customs.

From what I heard, you did well at first, just like I did. It's always like that when you start something new, isn't it? Those first days feel exciting, like you might enjoy what you've been tasked with.

But that's not for us, is it, Potter? We're never comfortable with what we're given. We always want _more_.

And you, my dear. You wanted _more_ , didn't you?

I remember the first time I knew something was amiss. There were too many men I didn't know at the Immingham Docks. Too many unfamiliar, uncomfortable faces. They didn't move like men used to the roll of the sea beneath their feet. 

They moved like men of the earth.

It didn't stop them from nearly getting me. It's how I got this. Yes, I've seen you staring. It is a bit garish, isn't it? I'm lucky I didn't lose the eye. My doctor told me it was a near thing. _A centimetre to the left more, Mr Malfoy, and you'd have the eye patch to match the title_. It does make me look the part, though, doesn't it? And it makes people fear me, more than they did before. There's something powerful about a beautiful thing ruined, isn't there?

But there I go again.

So it started at Immingham, and it followed me to London and Southampton and Liverpool. Every time my boots hit land, there your men were. After that first time, they never got close enough to touch me, though. It's something you always failed to notice about me, Potter, ever since we were children. You spent all your time with that Granger girl and thought you knew who the most intelligent person at Hogwarts was. 

But though I've been misguided in my life, I've never been an idiot. And I knew if I kept you guessing, if I kept you looking, you'd eventually come to me.

Which brings us to our current circumstances. I do apologize for the bonds, but I know what kind of mischief you can get into, and I'd rather keep what remains of my looks.

They'll be gone soon enough, though how depends on these next few minutes between us. Either I'll remove them, no harm, no foul, or my man outside will knock you unconscious, and he'll leave you unbound on the docks. Either way, those ropes won't be a problem for you much longer.

I've an offer to make you, Potter. Or shall I call you Harry, since we may become partners after this? Judging by that glare of yours, I think not.

It's a simple prospect. You control the ports. You control the flow of goods in and out of Wizarding Britain. You charge the taxes and inventory the storehouses. All of it, within the palm of your calm and confident hand.

And I supply those goods. I pay the taxes, the tariffs. And yes, there are other names on the manifests and other captains on those ships, but we both know who they really work for, who's really in charge of that great lumbering beast of commerce.

All I ask is that you let a few shipments get through unnoticed, unexamined. Fudge a few lines in those great ledgers of yours. And in return, I will give you exactly what you want. Exactly what you've been wanting after ever since you put Voldemort in the ground.

I'll give you a chase.

Don't pretend with me, Potter. I know you better than anyone else in this awful, bloody world. And do you know why? It's because you and I, we're the same. We both want what we can't have, what's just over the horizon. We both crave it. To put our hands on what others can't touch, to be looked upon with envy and, perhaps, a bit of fear.

A bit of lust.

Oh, stop it with that blushing miss act. I've seen you watching me as I've paced around this room. Those porters aren't the only ones with glorious thighs, and you've been staring at mine since I told you about Frankie or whatever his name was. This bit in the middle is just as good, by the way. Just a thick, just as powerful. You can see how it fills my hand, can't you? Do you want to touch?

Spread your legs. That's a good boy. You can feel it there, can't you? Pressed up against your calf? There are other places I could put it, ones that would feel much, much nicer.

You have such lovely thighs.

So, what do you say, Potter?

Do we have a deal?

**Author's Note:**

> For my lovely, wonderful friend, [slytherco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherco/pseuds/slytherco). You are incomparable, and I sincerely hope you like whatever this is 😂


End file.
